


I Won't Mind

by kingsnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drunk Jon, F/M, First Kiss, Horny Jon, Insomnia, Pre-Battle Angst, Thirsty teens, fashion - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 07:23:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18633502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsnow/pseuds/kingsnow
Summary: “You look like a bloody peasant. Did it even occur to you that perhaps I had been working on a new outfit for you? That you didn’t have to wear whatever rags the Dragon Queen left in your room?”





	I Won't Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maidenly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidenly/gifts), [Jade_Masquerade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Masquerade/gifts).



Jon couldn’t sleep. This happened more often than not since he died. It was like his body thought if it temporarily shut down it wouldn’t get up again. Usually it helped to drink some ale, or to go over his plans at his desk. Lately he’d been kept busy by his plans for Winterfell, trying to come up with new ways to attach dragonglass spikes to his home. Eventually his eyes would hurt so much he couldn’t keep them open anymore and he would collapse into bed. But tonight he’d sucked back half a dozen pints alone in his chambers and he was still restless.

 

He blamed it on the war, on the tensions between the Northmen and the Dothraki, on allowing himself to sleep in half an hour past dawn. But deep down he knew he had nobody to blame but himself for allowing himself to think of Sansa again. War was coming sooner rather than later, and he still hadn’t told her how he felt. He’d let her believe he was in love with  _ her _ and maybe she’d go to her grave believing that. 

 

Jon stared at the door and a lump formed in his throat. He swallowed it down. Despite everything, he moved to his feet and stumbled to the door. It was stupid, because any normal person would be asleep, but also because not telling anyone was the most important part of his plan. 

 

With a belly full of ale, the thought of falling asleep next to Sansa was a balm to his greying soul. So he made his way through the hall, until he was in front of her room. He sucked in a breath, and imagined what he would say to her.

 

In the morning, he’d blame it on the ale, whatever it was. No doubt it would come out as one big mess.

 

He knocked on her door when it was almost daybreak. Sansa opened the door with a yawn. Her hair was mussed and her face soft. Of course she’d been asleep. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, his words slightly slurred. “I’m sorry. Go back to bed.”

 

He turned to leave but Sansa grabbed his wrist. “It’s fine. Jon, tell me… what did you need?” 

 

Jon stared into her expectant eyes. He was at a loss for words. She was right that it was a need, though. Whatever this was had far surpassed mere want. He sighed in frustration before moving closer to her. She licked her lips, as though she knew just what he was thinking. She was right. Before they’d even closed the door, Jon was reaching for her waist and pulling her to him. To his surprise

 

“I’m a liar,” Jon whispered. “I shouldn’t be telling you… but… you of all of them deserve the truth.”

 

“Yes,” Sansa said, raising an eyebrow. “The truth.” She looked at him for a moment, and then narrowed her eyes. “Jon have you been drinking?”

 

Jon grumbled a “yes” in response. 

 

Sansa shook her head, and for a moment Jon thought he’d lost his chance with her, but then she giggled. “So… you’ve been lying to me, Jon?”

 

“To everyone,” Jon sighed. “It’s not easy.”

 

“I’m surprised you can even stand on your own,” Sansa said. She grabbed his hand and pulled away from his embrace. She led him by the hand to her bed. “Lay down.”

 

“On your bed?”

 

“Yes. I don’t need the Warden in the North to have a slip and fall, Jon. I already have too much on my plate.”

 

Jon shrugged. He sat on her bed, and then leaned back. He still had some standards of propriety, and kept his feet placed firmly on the ground. “I don’t love her,” Jon said.

 

“Oh, I know,” Sansa said with a laugh. “I figured it out.”

 

“You did?” Jon pressed his brows together in confusion. Was it possible that Sansa already knew everything? Who he was, who he loved? “How?”

 

“From Daenerys herself, in the library. She’s only here because she loves you. And…” Sansa paused, “I just… I can’t imagine you ever loving her.”

 

Jon was very aware of the fact that Sansa hadn’t let go of his hand yet. Not that he wanted her to, no, he would be happy to sacrifice the use of his left hand if Sansa wanted to go on holding it for the rest of their lives. 

 

“It’s worse than that, too,” Jon said.

 

Sansa gave his hand a little squeeze. “Oh, poor Jon,” she said, with a little giggle. “Could it be worse? You’re pretending to be in love with the woman who kept you captive for a year?”

 

“I’m -- I’m… not a Stark.”

 

“We’ve been over this! You are! You are, to me!” Sansa sounded exasperated, almost cross, as she explained this to him. 

 

“My mother was Lyanna Stark, and my father was … Rhaegar Targaryen…” Jon closed his eyes. He didn’t like saying the words, and hoped it would be the last time. 

 

“What?” Sansa asked. After a moment, she sighed. “Jon, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you need to sleep it off. We can deal with this in the morning.”

 

Sansa stood up and fell to her knees in front of him. All sorts of horrible thoughts a man should not have for his sister came to Jon’s mind. But Sansa simply unlaced Jon’s boots and pulled them off his feet, and rolled his socks off too. She stood, and unbuttoned his jerkin, pulling it off and tossing it to the floor. 

 

“Who has been dressing you?” Sansa asked, clearly exasperated by his outfit.

 

“What?”

 

“Who has been making your clothes? You left Winterfell a King, Jon Snow. And now you walk around in this decaying leather. Does anyone even wash it for you?”

 

“Well, I don’t know. The clothes just showed up in my room.”

 

“You look like a bloody peasant. Did it even occur to you that perhaps I had been working on a new outfit for you? That you didn’t have to wear whatever rags the Dragon Queen left in your room?”

 

It had not occurred to Jon that Sansa had even thought of him much while he was gone, let alone that she’d cared about what he was wearing. “I’m sorry, Sansa.”

 

Sansa sniffed. “It’s alright, Jon.”

 

Sansa unbuttoned the tunic he was wearing. It had once been white, but now it was more yellowy brown than anything else. Once it was off of him, Sansa threw it in the fire. “Much better,” Sansa said, as the fabric caught fire. The room was suddenly more illuminated than it had been, and Jon noticed now that Sansa was wearing almost as little as he was. She was clad in merely a thin silk shift. He could see the outlines of her breasts and nipples through it, and it took everything in him to look back up to her face. But Sansa hadn’t noticed her brother ogling her, because her own eyes were fixed on his chest. Sansa ran a hand along Jon’s chest, and sighed. “Do you -- do you need help with your trousers, Jon?”

 

“If I’m going to stay the night, it might be too… dangerous… for me to take them off,” he said, because though he wanted to ravish his sister, a bigger part of him wanted to respect her.

 

“Oh, oh I see,” Sansa said, disappointment evident in her voice. 

 

Jon grabbed her hand again, and pulled her towards him. Just like that, they were kissing…

 

*

 

Five hours later, Jon awoke, better rested than he had in the years since he’d died. Sansa was his lucky charm, he supposed. 

 


End file.
